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Bucky never made a big deal about his birthday. For decades, he hadn’t even known when it was. His handlers didn’t care about years, days, or months—only training and missions. If they woke him, it was because there was something to do. If they put him back under, it meant he wasn’t needed. Time itself had no meaning.
He hadn’t been a person back then. Just a weapon, an asset. **Weapons didn’t get birthdays.** Even after he came back to himself, it wasn’t something he felt like celebrating. But things were different now.
Steve was the first to bring it up—because, of course, he was. "You know what day it is, right?" he asked over breakfast, casually flipping through the newspaper.
Bucky frowned, stirring his coffee. "Monday?"
Steve sighed. "It’s your birthday, Buck."
Bucky would have preferred if the day had no meaning. The date meant nothing to him. He shrugged, poking at his eggs with his fork. "It’s just a day, Steve."
"It doesn’t have to be," Steve said, voice gentle but firm. "It’s your birthday—and you were robbed of that for years. I think you deserve to experience this day as something special. Come on, Buck..."
Bucky didn’t answer, just shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. Maybe if he chewed long enough, the conversation would end.
It didn’t.
A few hours later, Sam showed up at his door, holding a box and wearing a wide grin. "Hey Bucky—birthday surprise incoming. Sorry I’m a little late."
Bucky muttered, "It’s just another day."
"Absolutely not. And I brought cake."
Sam pulled out a chocolate cake—homemade, by the looks of it, slightly uneven frosting and all. "Your favorite," Sam announced. "Double chocolate."
Of course, Bucky liked cake. At least there wasn’t a number on it.
Bucky huffed—the cake looked good, and it was probably delicious. "It’s fine. Thank you, Sam."
"Fine? Damn, I spent all morning on this, and it’s just fine?"
Bucky muttered something about not needing a cake… but it was still nice.
The *not-a-party* had officially begun. Steve had dug up old records, and soon the apartment was filled with the scratchy sounds of the Andrews Sisters. Bucky leaned against the wall, watching as Sam, in true Sam Wilson fashion, took it upon himself to liven things up.
"Alright, Birthday Boy," Sam declared, grinning as he spun on his heels, arms wide. "Let’s make this a real celebration."
Bucky narrowed his eyes. "What are you—?"
Before he could finish, Sam had already started dancing.
And not just any dancing.
He was dancing **around Bucky.**
And really, how was Bucky supposed to stay grumpy now?
"Come on, man! You telling me you never danced back in the day? This is your music, right?"
Bucky groaned. "Sam, I swear—"
Sam just kept going, exaggerated steps and dramatic twirls, a huge grin plastered on his face.
Steve chuckled from the other side of the room, arms crossed. "Y’know, Buck, I seem to recall you being a pretty good dancer."
"That was different," Bucky muttered.
"Oh yeah?" Sam smirked, still moving, effortlessly dodging the half-hearted swipes Bucky sent his way. "Different how?"
Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Because back then, I was younger and no one danced around me like this."
Sam just laughed, doing a little shuffle before stopping right in front of Bucky. "You love it."
"I hate it," Bucky shot back, but there was the ghost of a smirk there.
Sam pointed at him. "That means he secretly loves it."
Steve nodded sagely. "Yeah, that tracks."
Bucky groaned again, but this time, he was definitely smiling.
At one point, Steve handed him a small box, wrapped in blue paper. "What’s this?" Bucky asked suspiciously.
"Just open it."
Inside was a simple dog tag. New, but worn just enough to feel like it had history. Bucky turned it over, and his breath caught.
**Bucky Barnes – Still Here. Very much loved.**
His fingers curled around the metal, gripping it tight. For so long, he hadn’t been here. He had existed, but that was different from living. And now, he had them.
He swallowed hard. "Steve—"
Steve just nodded. "Yeah."
Bucky blinked fast and looked away, jaw tight. "This is… wonderful. Thank you."
"Anytime, Buck."
After the cake and all the noise, Bucky sat alone on the balcony, looking out at the city lights.
Sam appeared in the doorway, two beers in hand. He held one out. "Figured you could use some company."
Bucky nodded and took it, tipping the bottle toward him in silent thanks.
Sam smiled at him. "Not a bad day, huh?"
Bucky exhaled slowly, then, smiled back. "No. Not bad at all… A good day. Really. With Steve and you."
For years, he’d been nothing more than a ghost, a shadow of something long lost. He hadn’t even known his own birthday, let alone had a reason to celebrate it.
But tonight, with the quiet hum of music in the background, with his two favorite people who had made this day special…
He was still here and he was glad for it.